


all is to be dared

by skybone



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/F, Falling In Love, Not Canon Compliant, passionate kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-20 15:40:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3655734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skybone/pseuds/skybone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cassandra had been a Seeker for more than half of her lifetime. The Seekers' mission was to find problems, places where things had gone wrong, and fix them, and they had never been gentle about it. She was used to other people responding to her as Varric had, with a mixture of fear and hatred. This did not bother her. That was normal. She was far less used to people <i>liking</i> her, much less... caring for her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	all is to be dared

**Author's Note:**

> Another story about how Cassandra and a female Inquisitor get together, from Cassandra’s point of view. I do not own the Bioware characters or world, I’ve just taken them out to play; I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> As always, written for my love.

At such a high elevation, it was rare that Skyhold experienced truly hot days, but it did happen occasionally in summer when the winds that usually sang about the keep were stilled. When the heat prowled through the courtyards and sent tendrils of fog rising from the roof shingles like wisps, those who had the time and the will to do so sought places in the sun to bask like lizards, while those who were more sensitive and tended to wilting looked for places to avoid it.

Cassandra fell into the latter camp, probably because she was usually in armour, which concentrated the heat and produced sensations uncomfortably reminiscent of a forge. On this day, having stubbornly worked through her training routine in full armour despite the heatwaves rising from the cobbles to make the walls tremble in her vision, she was redfaced, hot, and unpleasantly sticky, her hair was poking out in salty spikes from running her hands through it, and she wanted only to find somewhere cool to relax and read for a while. Some of the rooms in the depths of the keep were cool, but they were also dark, dank, lacking in furniture, and somewhat depressing. There was a better option: a quiet place high on an inconvenient, seldom-used staircase to the battlements that was perfect. It had a degree of privacy because the stair’s position meant it was rarely used, and a corner partway up that caught what little breeze there was and funneled it to a shaded spot. She had removed her armour, she had a flask of cold (well, coolish, now) mint tea, a good book, and she was thoroughly enjoying herself.

And then she heard voices she recognized approaching, and sighed to herself. Doubtless the Inquisitor and Leliana would stop to engage her in conversation—just as she had reached an intensely _interesting_ part of the novel.

The voices drew closer, but there was no sign of the people attached to them. Puzzled, and impatient to get the interaction over with, she stood and looked around, feeling a blow of heat strike as she rose into sunlight from shadow. She could see no one on the staircase, above or below. Perhaps it was a trick of the air, carrying sound down from the battlements? She settled down on the stair again; they would pass above without noticing her, and now that she knew they would not interrupt her she could ignore their conversation.

But then, clearly, she heard Leliana say, “—and he has sent a request that the Inquisitor consider that a marriage would be a desirable way of sealing the alliance and consolidating power. There are, of course, many reasons why this liaison would be desirable, though—”

“No,” came the Inquisitor's voice, brusque and angry. “I will _not_ marry for the sake of strategic gain or convenience. No matter how sensible it seems to you.”

“I did not say that _I_ believe you should marry for strategic reasons,” said Leliana stiffly. “I was going to say that although there are some political justifications for it, there are equally good reasons _not_ to accept the offer, and they provide excuses that will be acceptable and will not give offence.”

There was a pause and a sigh. “No, you didn't say it. I apologize. I am a little... impatient about such offers.”

“I would not suggest that you should accept such an offer. I am well aware that you would not countenance such liaisons,” said the spymaster. “And I am doubly aware that you would not do so given that you are in love with the Seeker.”

There was a dead silence.

Leliana eventually said more gently, “I do not think anyone else is aware of this. Certainly Cassandra is not. But it is my job to notice these things.”

Cassandra took her first breath in several moments, feeling as if one of Cullen's training pikes had caught her in the stomach.

“I would prefer that you do not speak of this to anyone,” said Trev, more subdued than the Seeker had ever heard her.

“You have not spoken to her?”

“You don't already know?” Trev said bitterly. There was another pause. “Cassandra made it clear a long time ago that she could not return the affections of a woman,” she said eventually, her voice almost inaudible. “I respect that. And I value her friendship, and do not want to lose it. This is... my problem. It does not affect anyone other than myself. She does not need to know of it.”

There was another silence. Eventually Leliana said softly, “I am sorry. I will not speak of this to anyone. But if you wish to talk at some time... it is very hard to love someone you cannot be with, for whatever reason. I understand that very well.”

“Thank you,” said Trev. “I—you are very kind. At the moment... I do not want to talk about it.”

Leliana changed the subject then, saying something about Venatori movements, and they walked on, their voices fading.

Cassandra sat in silence, a terrible vertiginous tension clutching her chest. She had almost forgotten the things she had said to the Inquisitor after the flirting that had originally prompted her to confront Trev. She had almost forgotten the flirting. She had been relieved that Trev had behaved so normally towards her afterwards, and thought the Inquisitor’s advances could not have been very seriously meant. She had put it all out of her mind, and the tentative friendship between them had developed, platonically, into a warm camaraderie.

Or so she had thought.

She had thought she knew and understood Trev fairly well, but now.... Was she simply so oblivious? She knew that sometimes she could be very unperceptive. No, Leliana had said that she thought no one else knew; it was simply that Trev was very good at hiding her feelings.

And now, despite Trev’s best efforts and determination that she not know of this, she _was_ aware. She felt as if she had been spying on the Inquisitor, which was ridiculous. This was an accident. There was no reason that she should feel so guilty.

She tried to start reading her book again, but found she was looking at the page without comprehension; clearly she could not concentrate on the story any longer. For now she would find something else to do to occupy her time, and dismiss this—this disruption—from her mind.

*                *                *

There was a great deal to do, when one went actively looking for tasks, and it was all suitably distracting, if not as cooling and pleasant as sitting in the shadows on a high staircase. In the mid-afternoon she stopped by Josephine’s desk to review some reports and found the Ambassador with a large, extravagant box in the centre of her desk. “Has someone been offering you bribes?” she enquired.

“Indeed they have, and very good ones,” said Josephine, laughing. “These are from the Nevarran ambassador; they are some kind of sweet.”

“I hope she sent the ones made with flavoured cream,” said Cassandra. “They are a specialty, and they truly are very good.”

“There are a great many, so I expect that she did," said Josephine. "Will you have tea with me and share some?”

“No, no,” said the Seeker, alarmed that her comment may have been taken as a hint, “They are for you.”

“Please,” said Josephine. “I would rather share them with a friend.”

Cassandra hesitated. Her life, by choice, tended to be somewhat ascetic—but these were Nevarran sweets. The invitation to share them did seem sincere. And if she was speaking with the Ambassador she would not be thinking about the Inquisitor. “Thank you,” she said.

In fact, taking tea with Josephine was something Cassandra did quite regularly; the Ambassador was a warm and friendly woman who rather unexpectedly seemed to like her. Josephine had a small kettle that she could use to heat water without troubling the kitchens, a sturdy old pot, and loose tea of several kinds. They had developed a practice of together trying new teas that the traders brought to Skyhold; there were more varieties now as the roads had become safer. This time they settled on an herbal tea from Rivain that Cassandra had never tried; she found it forthright on the surface but with subtle undertones, rather like the Ambassador herself. And the Nevarran sweets were excellent. It had been some years since she had tasted them, and these were spicy as well as sweet, and came with a breath of hot nostalgia that was a little painful as well as pleasant; when she was a child her uncle had occasionally purchased them for her.

As they drank the tea Josephine asked about her life with the Seekers, and as Right Hand of the Divine. She had known some of what Cassandra told her, of course, but she was interested in the details, and how the Right Hand and Left Hand worked together.

“I knew Leliana many years ago,” she said eventually, “before she became the Left Hand. She is much changed from that time.  She used to be… joyous. Or at least much more lighthearted. Sometimes I worry about her, I do not think she is very happy.”

Cassandra had not noticed that Leliana might not be happy, but she was beginning to wonder if she noticed anything about people. “She has a great deal of responsibility,” she said tentatively. “And it is a very difficult time.”

“That is so,” said the Ambassador. “Well, I must consider whether there is anything I can do to lighten her load. Speaking of loads, did you hear what happened when the delegation from Crestwood…” And she launched into a wickedly scandalous bit of gossip that even Cassandra could not help but laugh at. She was still smiling when she left Josephine, and grateful for the escape from her own worries. Socializing that resulted in Nevarran sweets certainly seemed to have clear benefits.

It was nice to have someone with whom she could occasionally talk about something other than matters of policy and tactics. She customarily held herself apart from others, from both habit and inclination; the life of a Seeker did not encourage emotional connections, and she knew that she was not part of the network of friendships that the others had built after the terrible trek from Haven. Her bond with Trev was a rare exception, and she supposed that if she continued to take tea with Josephine some kind of friendship might develop there over time as well.

“Will you be at the game at the tavern later?” Josephine called after her.

“Of course,” she replied. Her skills were poor, and showed no signs of improving over time, but she could afford to lose, and attending the weekly gathering to play Wicked Grace had become a regular habit for her; it was an excellent place to catch up with news and gossip.

And so later in the evening, greeted predictably by Varric’s “Here comes the mark,” she joined the companions and advisors in the Herald’s Rest and played a few rounds. During the game she studiously avoided staring at the Inquisitor and instead watched Josephine. As most of them generally spent a great deal of time suspiciously watching the Ambassador, whose skill at the game was alarmingly well disguised and had expensive consequences for the unwary, this went unremarked.

But when she retired to her loft and was once again alone, she found that it had all simply been a deflection: the problem immediately sat up and insistently demanded her attention.

The problem. Was it a problem?

The question, she supposed as she undressed and slipped into her bedroll, was whether it was a problem for _her_. Trev seemed to have found an accommodation between her feelings and what was possible, or at least was able to set her feelings aside in the interests of friendship, and presumably could continue to do so. So the only issue was Cassandra’s response.

She could see no reason why it should impact their friendship. The disturbance was only in her own mind. It was not that she was disgusted by the thought of women together; she was simply unmoved. Well, apart from the occasional scene in a romance novel, but that only showed the writer’s skill, not her own inclinations. It was of course embarrassing to know that someone cared for you in that way when you could not return their feelings, but she did not actually need to respond. She did not have to say anything to Trev, or acknowledge that she knew of Trev’s feelings. She thought that surely, if the Inquisitor could find an accommodation with her feelings, she could deal with the awareness of them.

It was just that the whole thing made her feel so _unsettled_. And she didn’t quite know why. She made a frustrated, disgusted noise and turned over in her bedroll. She would _not_ allow this to disrupt her sleep.

Still, it was some time before she finally dozed off.

*                *                *

Cassandra had spent a year in solitude, with only her own thoughts and her devotion to the Maker to companion her. But that was a disciplined practice of worship and spiritual awareness, an emptying of self. She did not enjoy self-reflection; trying to think about the workings of minds, her own included, generally left her feeling baffled and frustrated. She did not want to spend time examining and dissecting her own thoughts, or those of anyone else.

But when she woke and remembered the events of the previous day, she felt a yawning chasm of unease open. For most of the day she had tasks to keep her busy, but again, the evening hours spent alone were not so easy to negotiate, and the—worry?—even distracted her from her prayers. She realized that she was going to have to eventually work out what was bothering her.

 _Why_ was this so upsetting to her? In the past there had occasionally been women, some of them associates, who yearned after her and pursued her. She had treated them just as she had treated Trev, explaining that she was uninterested, and thought nothing of it afterwards. But learning that Trev’s feelings had not abated, but if anything intensified—this made her anxious in ways she had not been anxious since she was very young. It was infuriating.

Cassandra had been a Seeker for more than half of her lifetime. The Seekers' mission was to find problems, places where things had gone wrong, and fix them, and they had never been gentle about it. Seekers did not generally have friends, other than amongst themselves, and even there feelings were generally more collegial than passionate. She was used to other people responding to her as Varric had, with a mixture of fear and hatred. This did not bother her. Varric might not fear her now that they were on the same side, or not so much, but he certainly had no warm feelings for her. That was normal.

She was far less used to people _liking_ her, much less... caring for her. Certainly she had been pursued at times; she knew she was physically attractive, which was enough to attract some, and others regarded her as some kind of challenge. And for some, conquests were part of the Game. But that kind of interest was different.

She was not sure that the Inquisitor had ever been truly afraid of her in the way that so many others were, not even at the beginning, when Trev was a prisoner under suspicion and the threat of death. Worried and disoriented and afraid of the circumstances and what might happen, yes; but she had not seemed afraid of Cassandra herself, or even very much intimidated by her. Trev had been warm and open almost from the start. Cassandra had been suspicious at first, and it was some time before she was convinced that there was not some ulterior motive behind the Inquisitor's friendliness. But there seemed to be none, other than an inexplicable fondness for the Seeker. Trev gained no benefits in status or influence from the friendship; she might not be as high a ranking noble as Cassandra, but she had certainly come to wield more power. The Inquisitor's reasons were unfathomable to Cassandra, but eventually she had accepted the offered friendship as genuine, and allowed herself to feel affection in return. And now—now that friendship was very precious to her.

Had the friendship been a lie, just the by-product of something as shallow as lust?

No. She realized how ridiculous that was as soon as she thought it. If Trev's interest had been that shallow, she would have let the friendship die once she realized that the Seeker would not return her affection and someone else caught her eye. That had not happened. The friendship was real.

She had not really doubted that; but reassuring herself did nothing to calm the feeling that a nest of nugs had taken up residence in her belly. And it was ridiculous, because there was no reason for it. After all, what was the worst that could happen? If she could not for some reason continue her friendship with Trev because of her awareness of the Inquisitor’s feelings, she could end the friendship.

… but she did not want that to happen.

She did _not_ want that to happen, not at all. When she thought of it, all the unsettled feelings surged to a frightening degree, and all the nugs turned into deepstalkers.

This was foolishness. She calmed herself using the meditative practices she had learned in preparing for her vigil, and was reassured to find that she could regain her composure to some degree. It allowed her to sleep, at least.

*                *                *

She had hoped that, given a few days, her distress would abate, but that didn't happen. She was able to put it aside when there were other things to do, she was able to find a precarious calm if she needed to, but whatever was roiling beneath the surface refused to dive back into the depths where it belonged.

In an effort to break the grip of her anxiety, she deliberately spent more time than usual sparring, not just running through training routines with the dummies. Sparring used more of her mind, and she did not want to think about Trev all the time. She asked Bull if she could train again with the Chargers; she had not done so since Haven fell. The mercenaries had different fighting styles from those trained by the Templars or Seekers, so the change of pace was good for all of them. Bull was pleased with the results of the first session, and bought all her ale that night in the Herald’s Rest. Which was little enough, given her abstemious habits, but it was the thought that counted.

“Next time,” he said, “I will make the losers buy your ale, Seeker,” and she laughed. The Chargers laughed too, but with less enthusiasm.

“But what if I am the one to lose?”

“Oh, I think it will be some time before that happens,” he said, grinning. “Unless you would like to spar with me? I promise to be gentle with you.” He cuffed her gently on the shoulder. "And you can be on top."

She retorted that he would need to arrange for the Chargers to carry him from the field of combat to his bed, if he was so set on occupying it, and they set a day and time to meet. It would be a good match; the last time they had fought Bull had come very close to besting her, and she had a great deal of respect for his skill.

Early the next morning she went to the rookery to send a few messages, and suddenly remembered Josephine’s remarks about the spymaster. Cassandra could not imagine Leliana with a joyous expression; she looked tired and worn and rather like a blade that had been sharpened so many times that it was becoming dangerously thin without anyone noticing. Had she been so humourless when she was the Divine's Left Hand? The Seeker considered it, and although they had never been close enough for her to know Leliana well, thought that something had indeed changed. She realized that since the Conclave Leliana had seemed almost obsessively focused on her work. She never sparred any more, and rarely seemed to leave the Rookery. Focus was not a bad thing; Seekers learned focusing techniques as part of their training. She was quite certain that Bards did as well, and Leliana had trained as a Bard. But finding true focus required finding balance, and what she saw in Leliana now was not balance.

On impulse, she said, “It cannot be good for you to spend so much time up here; your fighting skills will get rusty. If you would like to train again, I would be happy to spar with you.”

Leliana frowned, looking at her suspiciously, but she said that she might do so. The Seeker was slightly surprised on the next day to find Leliana in the training yard, weighing the practice weapons consideringly. They had a good match. Leliana was not so rusty as she could have been, and although she conceded the first two bouts she was the clear victor in the third. "Thank you," she said afterwards, with a flash of the charming smile that Cassandra realized she had not seen in a long time. "It was good of you to ask me to spar. I needed that."

"Please come and do it again," said Cassandra. "I enjoy sparring with you." They stood and talked casually for a few minutes afterwards about nothing of importance. Cassandra thought the spymaster's face, flushed with exertion, seemed more gentle than it had been. Then Josephine, who had appeared part way through their bout and stayed to watch, carried Leliana off, against her protests, for tea and a turn at the Nevarran sweets, throwing a triumphant smile back at the Seeker as she did so. Cassandra thought Leliana's insistence that she did not have the time for such things was not nearly as convincing as it might have been if the sweets had not been so good.

She thought Leliana would likely come to the practice yard again, which would benefit both of them, and was satisfied. She had meant it when she said she had enjoyed it, though of course sparring was not really a social activity, and therefore enjoyment was not relevant.

*                *                *

Unfortunately such bouts only relieved her own tension for a little while. She found herself worrying at the problem of her—her degree of affection—with unnerving frequency. She was not so much upset by the actual feelings of distress at the thought of losing Trev’s friendship, which were understandable, but by their intensity, which was not. It was one thing to be bound by such strong feelings if one was actually in love with the other person. It was quite another to be so insecure that she was afraid of losing a friend. Children were bound to others, dependent on the whims of adults, because they did not have the resources and capabilities to manage on their own; she knew all about the helplessness of children. But she was _not_ a child.

Then came the events at Caer Oswin, and these did not leave room for much else in her thoughts, at least for a while. But almost immediately after their return the Inquisitor took her out on another expedition, together with Varric and Solas; Cassandra wondered if Trev was trying to distract her from what had happened. If so, the attempt was doomed to fail; she now had two things to worry about, and on an expedition with so much time spent on the move even a constant watch for danger only used part of her mind, so there was too much time to think about both.

Finally, following Trev down the winding trails of the Emerald Groves, she stared at the Inquisitor's back and made herself think about the obvious explanation for her unease.

 _Was_ there a possibility that she was “in love” with the Inquisitor, as opposed to loving her as a friend? She supposed that it might be possible, given how unsettled she was. How would she know? Lovers wished to spend a lot of time together, but then so did close friends. Maybe it came down to physical attraction. Was she attracted to Trev? There were... twinges... but she didn’t really suffer from any of the rather extreme ailments described in her more florid romances. Her loins did not burn with helpless, overwhelming passion. She did not find her heart seeking to burst its bonds. She was simply happier when the Inquisitor was nearby.

She guessed that one way to tell whether what she felt was love or friendship would be to kiss Trev; if there was a physical attraction she should certainly respond positively. Perhaps there was a way to test this without committing? But no, this seemed terribly unfair to Trev, and rather cold-blooded. Kissing Trev simply to evaluate her own reactions would _not_ be honourable.

And there was the complicating factor, as she knew perfectly well, that it was entirely possible to feel physical arousal without love. A discovery that she liked kissing Trev would not necessarily demonstrate that she was in love with her.

She tried to imagine kissing Trev, and failed. She did not feel revulsion when she thought of it, but neither did she feel a particularly strong physical reaction. Her imagination for this sort of thing was sadly out of practice. And she was somewhat distracted by wondering if kissing a woman would be different than kissing a man, and if so in what ways. Her books were unhelpfully vague and poetic. She knew that their descriptions of the effects of physical relations were exaggerated, in any case.

And if what she felt was love, or something like it, was it even real? She knew that she had an illogical, unruly and somewhat ruthless streak of pure romanticism that underlaid and on occasion inconveniently subverted her normally pragmatic approach to things. Had learning of Trev's feelings triggered it? Was this simply her mind responding to a stimulus, as it did with her romance novels?

There were far too many possible explanations for her unrest, and she did not know how to sort them out. It made her edgy and short-tempered, and with Varric in the party that pretty much guaranteed that he would respond by needling her.

It started simply enough. Varric wanted to know more details about what had happened at Caer Oswin; she assumed because he thought it would make a good story. Cassandra could not see it as simply another heroic tale, and she did not want to talk about it. But Varric being Varric, he persisted despite her evident annoyance and terse replies.

"So, all the Seekers turned to this cult, this Order of the Fiery Promise?"

"Not all of them," said Cassandra.

"Never mind," said Varric kindly, "I'm sure there were plenty there for you to get all stabby with."

"Varric!" said Trev, sharply.

"What?" said the dwarf. "We all know the Seeker here likes nothing better than chopping people up with her little sword."

Cassandra saw Trev's thunderous expression and said. "It is all right, Inquisitor."

"What?" said Varric again, irritated.

Trev looked at her. Cassandra didn't want to talk about Daniel, but she also did not want to leave the explanation to Trev. "We found my apprentice in Caer Oswin... my friend. He had been betrayed by Lord Seeker Lucius. They had... done something to him, and he was in pain and dying. I—" It was surprisingly difficult to say. "I was the one who gave him mercy." She quickened her pace, then, and strode out ahead of the others.

A little later the Inquisitor caught up, and they walked side by side in silence for a time. After a bit Trev said, "Are you all right?"

Cassandra sighed. "Yes. I—it is difficult, but it will become easier."

"In the world as it is now... any of us could need someone to do this for us," said Trev quietly. "Daniel was lucky to have a friend who cared for him to give him release."

Cassandra simply nodded, unable to speak, but somewhat comforted.

Later that day, after they had set up camp and the sun had set, Cassandra stood for a moment watching the last colours in the sky, all gold and indigo and infinitely deep. It was very beautiful. She felt movement beside her, and turned her head, expecting Trev or perhaps Solas. But it was Varric.

"I am sorry, Seeker," he said. "I would not have teased you if I had known."

She stared at him, astounded. Varric... apologizing to her? She shut her mouth, and said, "Thank you, Varric. But it is all right. You had no way to know."

"You were supposed to snap my head off when I said that," he said. "It would have made me feel better."

"And it would have been much more natural," she agreed.

He looked at her sharply. "You are becoming more human every day, Seeker," he said with a ghost of a smile, and sauntered off.

Varric apologizing. She still could not quite believe it had happened. It seemed that despite all his needling, he did not actually want to _hurt_ her. He had called it teasing. Perhaps he didn't hate her quite as much as she had thought he did.

The thought was almost alarming.

*                *                *

Later that night, lying in her bedroll in the tent she shared with Trev, she thought about it again, and about Trev's reaction to Varric's prodding. It was good to know that although clearly protective of her, the Inquisitor understood that the Seeker was the one who must choose how to respond to him. She could not love someone who did not respect her, who insisted that they take charge, as if she was a child.

And there it was again, the question of love.

Did she even _want_ to be in love with the Inquisitor? Trev was her commander, and that seemed to make it improper. But then again, the Right Hand was not a cog in a regular military hierarchy, nor was a Seeker. She had status equal to Leliana and stood outside the military structure of the Inquisition. It would be... possible.

But could she want Trev the way Trev wanted her? She simply did not know. A part of her passionately wanted a romance with—someone. But it had been a long time since the romance of her younger days, and she was not willing to compromise over such things. She would rather be alone than settle for less than she wanted; she was perfectly happy alone. She knew that if she did take a lover, she wanted the ideal—unrealistic as it might be to do so—and Trev did not fit what she meant by that.

Or did she?

Could she?

She was not a man. She was not at all like Galyan. Neither was she dashing and moody in the way the heroes in novels were; she was far less serious than they, and inclined to inappropriate pranks with Sera. But she was kind, and honourable. She was protective of her friends. She might not have faith as Cassandra did, but she was respectful of the Seeker's belief. She had a sense of duty and held to it; she had, if reluctantly, accepted the burdens of the Inquisition's need rather than turning away from them.

And she was... not unattractive. Not classically beautiful by a long shot, not a face that would turn heads, but one with a compelling strength and individuality. Cassandra turned her own head and looked toward the dark lump that was the Inquisitor. The moon was nearly full that night, and its light filtered through the closely woven canvas; she could see Trev's sleeping profile, dark against the fabric's brightness, and wondered what it would be like to wake up next to it when one was not on expedition.

*                *                *

Travelling with the Inquisitor—and sharing a tent with her—was perhaps not the best way to distract herself from her worries. Cassandra went out on an expedition with Dorian and Bull and Cole instead, clearing out packs of marauding wolves in the Hinterlands. Killing things was simple; the wolves were alive, and then they were dead. There were none of these complicated questions of if and when and how and to what degree.

But even there, her anxiety dogged her. They were walking along a trail when Cole suddenly said, “Cassandra, who’s Regalyan?”

Startled, unnerved, and furious at the intrusion, she snapped, “No one to concern yourself with.” She had been thinking of Galyan because she was trying to remember what she had felt when she was with him, trying to understand whether what she felt for Trev was at all similar.

Cole, who had no understanding of the danger he was in, said, “You were thinking about the time you—“ and she abruptly cut him off with a threat. She did _not_ want him prying in her thoughts, unearthing feelings that she did not understand herself. She forced her mind to follow the calming patterns that helped to empty it, and prayed she could get through this expedition without needing to kill him.

After that, if he rummaged in her thoughts, he did not speak of them, apart from one comment that was so enigmatic that she wasn't even sure whether it was her mind he had been in. It could have been one of the others; certainly they seemed equally nonplussed by his words. She tried to be careful about what she thought when he was near, although thinking of Trev without thinking _publicly_ of Trev was challenging, to say the least.

But perhaps she need not have worried; Bull and Dorian were preoccupied with each other, something she found both surprising and interesting to observe, given the disparities in their characters. Bull, of course, did not cease flirting with her; he clearly enjoyed doing so, and hearing her barbed retorts, and she had to admit that she also found the repartee amusing. But as far as she could tell they seemed serious about each other, and she approved.

One thing became very clear over the two weeks they spent away: she missed Trev. And then they rode back into Skyhold, joking about the different ways they looked forward to getting off the dirt of camp life, and what made the perfect bath (she favoured rose petals, Bull something less floral and more earthy, whereas Dorian's main concern was that the procedure included a meticulous manicure; she wasn't certain Cole took baths at all). And then she saw Trev standing on the stairs before the main keep, smiling at them all, and her heart jolted and she felt a surge of happiness that was exactly like floating in the embrace of warm, scented water. And she remembered that this happened every time she returned to Trev; she had just called it something else.

Trev did as she always did, greeting each of them individually, with affection and an obvious interest in hearing about their experiences that went beyond merely gathering information of military use. Cassandra, suddenly and unexpectedly picturing the Inquisitor in a rose petal strewn bath, felt awkward and tongue-tied, but Trev didn't seem to notice. She simply asked questions until, eventually, the Seeker was able to converse normally.

And then there were the tasks of stabling her horse, and cleaning her gear and putting it away, and bathing and changing into fresh, clean clothes, and by the time she was done with that, dinner was being served, and she was ravenous. She had hoped to see Trev there, but apparently the Inquisitor was eating in her quarters, as she often did when there was a great deal of paperwork.

She checked in on Cullen, with whom she had an arrangement to meet on a weekly basis, and found him well; she had expected nothing else. “I’m glad to see you, Seeker,” he said cheerfully. “It gets a little easier each day. I hope that soon you will not have to ask after my health when we get together.”

“I hope so too,” said Cassandra, thinking that she would like to continue meeting with him even after there was no need for it. Certainly he seemed to expect that they would continue to get together. He was an amiable man, with whom she could talk of military theory and practice, and she enjoyed the time they spent together, and thought he did too.

She clapped him on one fur-clad shoulder and followed him to the tavern, for it was their regular night for Wicked Grace. The Inquisitor did not appear there, either. Cassandra played, but with only half a mind and therefore even less skill than usual, and Varric shook his head at her. "If you can't do better than that, Seeker, I will have to give you lessons." She was not entirely sure that he didn't mean it.

Afterwards she went to her loft and sat at her table, staring at her hands. They were strong and sturdy, calloused from the sword. They were good hands. They were well trained and did what she told them to do, and did it well.

She still did not know what to do. She still did not know what she wanted. She knew only that she cared for Trev in ways that seemed to go beyond the bounds of friendship; but she did not know how far. And all her prayers to Andraste for guidance had not clarified anything, except possibly that what happened next was in her hands.

*                *                *

Cassandra faced dragons with less fear than she felt now. In fact, she thought she might prefer to face a dragon; with a dragon you knew exactly where you were and what the consequences of failure were. She was good at fighting dragons.

She was not so good with people, and she knew it. She did not know how to approach Trev about this, how to say the things she wished to say. She was not eloquent. She envied those for whom words came easily; words relating to things she felt passionately about were dragged from her only with effort and pain.

In truth, she did not know what she wanted to say, only that she must, she needed to say _something_. But she cared very much indeed as to what Trev would say in response to her. She did not want her inability to speak clearly to cause her to lose her friend. To lose...

She raised one hand to knock at the final door to Trev's quarters, and suddenly thought that this was all a very bad idea. It was far too late at night to be doing this, she was tired and Trev was doubtless tired, and it would be better to wait for a more appropriate time when they both could think clearly. She turned and started to walk away. But three steps later she stopped, told herself firmly not to be such a coward, and turned back and knocked. She heard a faint, “Come,” from above, took a deep breath, opened the door and stepped through.

Surely it was the last flight of stairs that left her breathless. The Inquisitor was on her settee, going through papers; she put them down as Cassandra approached and looked up enquiringly. “I thought that you would be long abed by now,” she said.

Cassandra shook her head. “I—wanted to speak to you about something.”

“Then come and sit down.” Trev moved papers onto a low table to clear a space. “Brandy?”

The Seeker, flustered, couldn't think how to answer such a mundane question, but sat, and the Inquisitor, seeming not to notice her distraction, filled a glass and placed it in her hands. “Thank you,” said Cassandra, and took a bigger mouthful than usual, which came unnervingly close to making her choke. It hit her stomach and lit a small, intense fire amongst the nugs.

“So, what did you want to talk to me about?”

Cassandra took a second gulp, put the glass down, and said, “I was on a staircase when you and Leliana passed by somewhere above. There was a quirk of the air, and I overheard you speaking with her. About your feelings for me.”

“Oh.” Trev's face had gone so expressionless that it seemed no longer quite human.

Cassandra found her hands knotting in her lap, and tried to relax them. “I was not going to say anything... but I must.”

Trev suddenly flung herself from the settee and walked toward the balcony. She locked her hands behind her back and stood staring out into the darkness, toward the indistinct silvery silhouettes of the mountains. “Go on.”

“What I told you before was true. I have never been attracted to a woman. I have never understood that attraction.” She looked at the rigid line of the Inquisitor's back. “But you are my friend. I—I care for you. I have been thinking about what I heard. What I feel. I have come to see that I care for you... more than I know how to understand. I—do not know how I feel about this. And I do not know what to do about it.”

Trev had slowly turned back to face her as she spoke, and looked at her now with an expression the Seeker did not know how to interpret. “Cassandra...”

“I do not know if I can give you what you want,” Cassandra said quickly. “But I do know... that I do not want to lose you.”

The Inquisitor took two steps forward and caught her hand. “Cassandra... I do not want to lose you, either. I would rather have you only as a friend than ask you to give what you cannot.”

Cassandra shut her eyes. “I don't know what I can give. I no longer understand myself.”

After a pause, Trev said, “Then—we will take the time for you to find out. As much time as you need.” Strong hands squeezed hers. “Will you allow me to court you, Cassandra Pentaghast?”

Court her? It had not occurred to her that this was a possibility.  “...Yes,” said the Seeker faintly, and felt a weight slide from her shoulders.

*                *                *

They sat and talked a little after that, finishing the brandy. Trev had not released her hand. Cassandra took comfort from the very ordinariness of Trev’s fingers linked with hers, affectionate but undemanding. When the space between them grew both too full and too empty, Trev stood, saying, “It's late... I will walk you back to your quarters.”

“That is hardly necessary,” protested Cassandra.

“I know,” said Trev with a lopsided grin, “but it is what suitors do. And I would like to do it.”

So they walked from the main keep across the compound to the armoury. In the shadows outside the doors, they stopped. Cassandra could barely make out the Inquisitor’s face. Trev said, “Sleep well,” a smile in her voice.

“Wait,” said Cassandra, turning toward her. Her stomach was as knotted as her hands had been earlier. “Trev...” She did not know what to say. She put out a hand and touched the Inquisitor's cheek. It was warm under her palm. Trev closed her eyes and leaned into it, and then opened them again and simply looked at her. “I have never kissed a woman,” said Cassandra hoarsely. She had not meant to do this. She had very much meant _not_ to do this, it was foolish, it was unfair to Trev, it was entirely wrong, yet somehow her voice was betraying her intentions. “But I think... I would like to try.” They were very close. She could feel Trev's breath, warm and smelling of brandy.

Trev's lips were astonishingly soft under hers. She kissed them lightly, once, twice, uncertain, felt the Inquisitor begin to respond, felt her mouth move. Trev was kissing her now, light, glancing kisses, teasing at her bottom lip and the corner of her mouth. This was... not unpleasant.

The Inquisitor was kissing the line of Cassandra's jaw now, with care, her lips moving lightly over the skin, then down and over Cassandra's throat. It was very slow, and very delicate, and very intense. Cassandra closed her eyes and felt her entire being concentrate on the surface of her skin, quivering. She felt teeth run across her throat, and shivered. And then the mouth moved on, exploring the other side of her jaw, slowly and maddeningly, and then those lips found hers again, still teasing, and Cassandra _wanted._ Her lips parted, she felt Trev's lips shift against hers and open. Trev tasted of brandy and fresh air and made a rough sighing noise deep in her throat as the Seeker kissed her.

Cassandra sank into sensation. This was all there was, the kissing, the kissing and a spreading warmth, and a small urgent sound that she thought was Trev's and then realized was her own.

She broke the kiss then, disoriented. One of her hands had tangled in the hair at the back of Trev's neck, the other had caught up the fabric on the back of her jacket, and their bodies met in a long, hot line. Trev's hands rested lightly on the hips that Cassandra pressed against her. Cassandra stared at her blankly. She felt as if all the thoughts in her head had been taken out, shaken together, and jumbled back any which way.

And then Trev's hands squeezed, lightly, briefly, and fell away; she stepped back, saying in a roughened voice “I think... I had best leave you now.” Then, “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” said Cassandra automatically, still distracted by that astonishing kiss. “Yes. I—will see you tomorrow, Inquisitor.”

She caught a glimpse of a wry smile in a beam of moonlight, and then Trev was gone.

*                *                *

It took her a long time to get to sleep. She was tired the next day, and rose a little later than usual, and missed the regular serving of breakfast in the mess hall, and the fresh bread had all been eaten by the time she found her way to the kitchens to beg for some. She ate a few dry crusts and threw herself into her morning training exercises, hoping to exorcise the fog that seemed to have taken up residence in her mind, but she felt awkward and unlike herself, and the dummies seemed exceptionally resistant to her attacks. It took time to find her footing, but she sank into the rhythm of the routine eventually. Finally she finished the stylized moves and let her sword drop, breathing hard from the exertion and wondering why she was suddenly so clumsy. 

And then she realized that the Inquisitor was standing nearby, watching her.

She flushed in confusion, her heart startling with a rush like birds bursting from a thicket, and had no idea what to say; it was fortunate that she still held the sword, as it gave her something to do with her hands. She sheathed it with careful precision, not looking at Trev, and that gave her a little time to pull herself together.

“Good morning,” said Trev, smiling at her. “Did you sleep well?”

“No,” said Cassandra curtly, suddenly appallingly angry. She did not understand _why_ she was angry; the Inquisitor had done nothing. Nothing except hold her, nothing except kiss her, and then leave her, leave her so—so disturbed—that she could not settle to sleep.

Trev’s face changed abruptly, losing the smile and becoming much more wary.

Cassandra felt even more furious, this time at herself.  She had _asked_ Trev to kiss her. And she had kissed Trev back, with a passion that had startled with its intensity; it was not as if she was an unwilling participant. It was unfair to blame the Inquisitor for the confusion she felt. She scowled ferociously, and Trev took a half step back.

“I am sorry,” said Cassandra, knowing that she sounded more angry than sorry, and feeling even more upset. “I am not angry at you, but at myself. I—I find myself most unsettled. I am not used to…” She was suddenly lost for words and waved her hands somewhat wildly.

Trev's face relaxed a little, and she stepped forward again, her hand moving reflexively toward the Seeker a little, then stopping. “I am sorry too, Cassandra. I did not mean to distress you by kissing you."

"It is not _distress_ , exactly," said Cassandra. "And it is no more your fault than mine."

"If I court you," Trev said quietly, "I will want to kiss you. As often as you will allow me to. But if you wish me to stop courting you, you have only to ask.” Her face looked... strained. “Do you want me to stop, Cassandra?”

“No!” said Cassandra, surprising herself with her own fierceness. “But I cannot—I do not—I want…” She could not explain her rage or the sudden, piercing pain like a river of cold silver fire that lay under it. She felt as if a nest of demons had taken residence in her head, and she could not understand why they were there. Her helplessness infuriated her, and with a grunt of desperate frustration, she swept her sword from its sheath and decapitated a dummy.

This time the Inquisitor stood her ground, and there was actually a hint of a smile quirking around the corner of her mouth. “Now the gossips will certainly say that the Inquisitor’s foolishness has driven the Seeker to distraction,” she said.

“No,” said Cassandra bitterly, “they will say that the Seeker lost her temper and hit something. Again.”

Trev’s face sobered abruptly and they looked at each other. After a moment, the Inquisitor said slowly, “I have meetings all through the morning. But this afternoon I will be in the old library on the lower levels. It is quite private—I have very rarely seen anyone else there.  If you come there, we can talk. But I must warn you that if you come, I will almost certainly kiss you again.”

She turned away, walking toward the stair to the lower keep, and left Cassandra staring after her.

*                *                *

Cassandra was not sure that she wanted to go to the library. She was not sure that she wished to talk more about this. She did want to kiss Trev again—she told herself that she simply wanted to find out if that extraordinary experience could be repeated—but to go there _knowing_ that the Inquisitor would kiss her seemed too deliberate, too intentional, too lacking in romance. But Trev had asked, and she didn’t want to hurt her. She allowed other demands to sidetrack her more than once; Vivienne wanted to lunch with her, and Leliana stopped her to talk about nothing in particular (as far as Cassandra could see; with the spymaster one could never be sure) and several people seemed to just want to chat. At least Dorian had a purpose when he stopped her, saying, “Cassandra, I’ve found a book I think you might like, though it is even more badly written than those by Varric,” and so of course she had to stop and defend the dwarf’s work. Eventually the sly smile on Dorian’s face told her that he was simply teasing her for a reaction, and she broke off abruptly, annoyed. But then he said, “Seriously, it’s not so badly done—I read the whole thing in one evening, though Bull had something to say about that—and I do think you would like it. I’ll bring it to you next time we play cards.” And so of course she forgave him.

No one mentioned the decapitated dummy, which was a relief.

In the end she eventually did make her way through the empty halls to the dusty library. The Inquisitor was sitting at an old desk, the light from the wall sconces flickering over the several books spread open before her. Her eyes lifted from the pages and she smiled tentatively. “I wasn't sure you'd come.”

“Neither was I,” said Cassandra, still feeling out of sorts, and found a decrepit chair that looked as if it might still be sturdy enough to bear her weight. She sat very erectly and stared at Trev, prickly and frowning, wondering what they could possibly say to each other.

“I am glad you came,” said Trev simply. Then she began methodically to close the books and pile them tidily, placing a marker in each one.

When she finished she looked at Cassandra and said, “Last night... was unexpected. I did not expect you to find out that I had feelings for you. I was caught by surprise, and so I did not say everything that I wanted to.

“You heard what Leliana said, but you have not heard it from me. I love you. I want you. I cannot imagine that this will ever change. If you cannot... give me all I want... I won't pretend that it wouldn't hurt, that it wouldn't be hard. But I would manage. And I will court you for as long as you will allow me to, until you decide what you want.”

Cassandra wondered whether she could escape before the Inquisitor said anything else. Her heart seemed to be beating unnaturally loudly; it must be shaking her body with its violence. She opened her mouth and then shut it again.

“You don't have to say anything,” said Trev gently. “You don't have to explain yourself. I just wanted to tell you how I felt, in my own words.”

Cassandra thought suddenly, unexpectedly, that despite her apparent calm and confidence, all the fiddling with books had been Trev's own way of dealing with fear. It was a revelation.

“I _cannot_ explain myself,” she said, her voice feeling like rusty knives, and then shook her head in frustration.

Trev's mouth quirked a little. “Do you think you can kiss me again?”

Cassandra looked at her. Yes.

“That I can do,” she said.

Trev stood and moved around the desk. Cassandra expected her to bend and kiss her, but instead the Inquisitor simply put out one hand to stroke the Seeker's cheek gently, rubbing her thumb along the jawline. The sense of affectionate kindness in the touch was very soothing, and Cassandra felt something that she had not known was clenched relax. She shut her eyes.

And then Trev _was_ bending to her, and Trev’s mouth was on hers.

The kiss was gentle and insistent, and Cassandra felt warmth kindling, but their lips were the only place they touched, and before long that was not enough. She found herself rising to her feet and turning, reaching, holding tightly. There was only a little difference in their heights. Cassandra let her hands move over Trev’s back, felt its shifting strength. She kissed the Inquisitor’s neck, slid her hands over Trev’s belly and ribs and upward, felt Trev’s breathing catch and quicken. The Inquisitor suddenly pushed her back against a bookshelf, and several carelessly shelved books toppled to the floor at the jolt. Trev's kisses were deeper now, laden with urgency and hunger, an intensity that both demanded and claimed a response. But then, abruptly, she pulled back, breaking the kiss, breathing hard.

Cassandra, thoroughly aroused and utterly beyond thinking, caught Trev's hips and pulled them back hard against her.

The sound of approaching voices interrupted whatever might have happened then; Cassandra made a frustrated noise, and they broke apart.

When Josephine and Leliana made their way into the library a few moments later, they found the Inquisitor and Seeker re-shelving fallen books. In the relatively dim light it was likely that no one would have noticed their heightened colour; or so Cassandra hoped, knowing how easily blushes were read on her skin.

“Ah, Inquisitor,” said Josephine cheerily, “we knew we would find you here, but we did not expect to find you, Seeker.” She seemed for some reason dreadfully lighthearted. Leliana, who had arrived with a smile already on her face, simply beamed at her in a rather predatory way that Cassandra found slightly unnerving.

“I wanted something to read,” she said defensively, snatching a book from a shelf at random and fleeing. It was only when she opened it in her loft later that she realized it was a treatise on the breeding of sheep.

*                *                *

She had forgotten, somehow, that Trev was leaving the next day to investigate reports of Venatori in the Western Approaches, taking Vivienne and Blackwall and Cole with her. How had she lost track of time? The expedition had planned to leave in the morning early, but there had been delays with some of the requisitioned supplies, and it was late morning before they were ready to go. The party had gathered in the courtyard when Cassandra came across the cobbles towards them. Josephine was arguing volubly with Ser Morriss about whether certain provisions of wine accompanying them had been clearly labeled as reserved for diplomatic negotiations. Trev had already mounted her Forder and was waiting patiently for the confusion to resolve itself. But her eyes were on Cassandra.

There was little to be said in so public a place. “You will be gone ten days or so, I think?”

“Yes,” said Trev, “if all goes well. It might be longer.”

“We will watch for you.” Then, more softly, “ _I_ will watch for you.” She put her hand on Trev's foot and said, “Please be careful.”

“I will,” said the Inquisitor. She bent over her horse's withers so their heads were closer together and said in a barely audible voice, “I will always come back to you.” Cassandra's eyes met hers. And then the scout was calling, and the horses wheeling, and they were gone.

Cassandra slowly walked back toward the armoury. At the door she looked back, saw Leliana watching her with an expression of consideration, and scowled.

*                *                *

There was a small book on the pillow of her bedroll. Cassandra picked it up and took it to her table, wondering. Its leather binding was worn and stained, and it showed signs of much handling. It fell open in her hand; there was a note and a dried flower tucked into the pages.

She unfolded the note, and recognized Trev's handwriting, though it was unsigned.

_Cassandra—_

_My own words cannot equal those of a master. But she speaks for me in everything she says._

It was a book of love poetry, she realized, poems by a Nevarran writer whom she had thought largely unknown outside her homeland and not well known even therein. She looked at the page the book had fallen open to and read:

 

 

> _...oh it puts the heart in my chest on wings_
> 
> _for when I look at you, even a moment, no speaking_
> 
> _is left in me_
> 
> _no: tongue breaks and thin_
> 
> _fire is racing under skin_
> 
> _and in eyes no sight and drumming_
> 
> _fills ears_
> 
> _and cold sweat holds me and shaking_
> 
> _grips me all, greener than grass_
> 
> _I am and dead — or almost_
> 
> _I seem to me._
> 
> _But all is to be dared..._

The flower was a gentian, the blue wildflower she loved so much for its stubborn, exuberant persistence in high barren places. She remembered picking a few blooms in a mountain pass, months before, and giving them to the Inquisitor, who had never seen it before, telling her about the flower. “But truly,” she remembered saying, “I do not love it so much for its beauty, but for its gallant spirit.”

She had not known that Trev kept the flowers.

She let the book fall onto the table and stared into space. She knew that she would read this poem, each poem, with a sense of wonder and mystery. She did not know yet that she would read and re-read them each night that Trev was gone, until the words burned into her memory, paired with the image of a faded blue flower.

*                *                *

It was not as if Trev had never been away before. She was frequently gone, whether on diplomatic missions or to help a community or deal with Venatori or any of the myriad of problems that beset the land; she believed strongly, and said often, that the Inquisitor must not just order things done, but do them, and be seen to be doing them. Cassandra thought that she also hated being cooped up in Skyhold.

But this time was different. The Seeker did not like the Inquisitor travelling _now_ , beyond all reach and knowledge of events. If she had been thinking clearly, surely she would have told the Inquisitor that she would not accept her courting, at least not until she returned and was _there_.

It was a very selfish attitude. She was ashamed of herself. But Trev's absence made her angry and irritable nonetheless.

She read the book of poetry, and then read it again. This... was what she felt with Trev. Did Trev really mean what she had said in her note? She read through the book again.

She delved into the Skyhold library, looking for other love poems, and found a few slender volumes. She thought that none seemed quite as true, as honest, as heartfelt and brave, as those in the book the Inquisitor had given her. There was one poem about a bird, though, that she would have liked to read to Trev.

She read the book again. She wanted desperately to kiss Trev, and tell her... tell her how the poetry had touched her heart, and made it sing.

*                *                *

They were three days late returning, and there had been no word; Cassandra was beside herself. She was not exactly worried, but her level of frustration had grown very high and her temper very thin. She had snapped nastily at Josephine over some minor thing; the Ambassador had at first looked shocked, and then a professional mask slid over her face and she found that there was somewhere else she needed to be. Leliana was also there—they seemed to be together a great deal these days, which Cassandra thought was likely part of Josephine’s campaign to cheer the spymaster up. Having witnessed the whole exchange, Leliana did not stop at simply rebuking Cassandra for her unkindness: in the process she demonstrated exactly how razor-sharp her tongue could be. Things were not made better when Sera, who had passed by just in time to hear both the rudeness to Josephine and the spymaster's subsequent tongue-lashing, remarked that if _someone_ was that tense and bitchy they obviously needed to spend some time working it off in the sack.

Cassandra, reflexively flaring up in response, opened her mouth and then shut it again, feeling boorish. In truth, they had both been accurate in their assessments of her. It was an uncomfortable realization. Feeling flayed, she went off to find the Ambassador and apologize to her. It was a genuine and heartfelt apology; she had found that she liked Josephine very much and did not want to hurt her. Josephine looked wary at first, but as soon as Cassandra said, "Lady Ambassador, I am sorry. What I said was unkind. I was upset about something else and I took it out on you," her face softened back into a smile.

"I thought that you must be upset about something besides me," she said. "You are one of the kindest people I know."

Utterly flummoxed by this compliment, Cassandra stammered something and left. Kind? She did not think of herself as particularly kind, and she was quite certain most people would not share the Ambassador's views.

She retreated to her loft, feeling thoroughly discomposed, and thought that she should probably avoid people as much as possible, given her evident inability to behave decently. It was not as if she was a part of the chain of friendships in Skyhold, so it would be relatively easy to disappear from view for a few days. But then Sera came by, and despite her protests of tiredness pulled her along to the regular evening of cards at the Herald's Rest. “Aw, come on, Cassandra,” she said, “Don’t let that rubbish get you down. It wouldn’t be the same without you.”

Cassandra thought it unlikely that anyone would notice her absence, much less miss her, but her chair was waiting where Varric had placed it, and Josephine was there and immediately smiled at her. Leliana, sitting next to the Ambassador, looked at her for a moment and then nodded and gave her a small smile as well, leaving her feeling more than a little confused. But then Cullen drew her into a heated argument with Bull about training techniques, and she forgot to be uncomfortable. And Dorian had brought her the book they had been talking about; pleased, she tucked it away for later.

*                *                *

When Trev did return it was late on the following day: the party rode in at dusk, dirty and exhausted. The trip had been a hard-won success: several nests of Venatori had been cleaned out and new camps established. Cassandra, who had taken her temper up onto the battlements where it was less likely to do harm, saw the Inquisitor looking around as she rode in. She did not immediately look up, but when she did, and their eyes met, a slow smile spread across her face. But the advisors were descending on the Inquisitor by then, and carrying her off, and Cassandra knew she would not have a chance to speak to Trev for some time.

The meeting went on and on. Cassandra refused to loiter in the main hall with the courtiers, knowing she would not, could not, put her need to see Trev so on display. But she visited the Undercroft to discuss modifications to armour and weapons with Harritt and Dagna. Then she ducked into Solas's space at the bottom of the tower to ask about the Fade, one ear always on the hall outside. When she emerged, Varric called her over for a few minutes to talk about red lyrium and its effects, which gave her a reason to be there. She even ventured up to visit Vivienne briefly, with the excuse of wanting information about some details of the Game’s current play in Orlais, because she knew she could keep an eye on the hall below from the mage's balcony.

Luckily the doors of the keep were heavy and resounding. She heard a faint sound—that would be the door of the War Room, or perhaps the second door into Josephine's office—and quickly made her excuses to Vivienne. She took the stairs down three at a time and was emerging from the side door into the main hall when Trev, Leliana and Cullen came through the door opposite.

"Inquisitor," she said clearly, "If I might have a word?"

"Of course, Seeker," said Trev, stopping. Leliana smiled at Cassandra, took Cullen's arm, and pulled him on. It was almost as if—no, that was silly.

She pushed open the door Trev had just come through, as if leading her back to Josephine's office, but once they were on the other side she ran down the side stairs into the deserted hall that no one had yet quite figured out what to do with. And then she stopped, and found that her hands had come to rest on Trev's shoulders.

"I missed you," she said finally.

Trev's arms came right round her, and they leaned into each other. "I missed you too," breathed the Inquisitor. Trev smelled strongly of woodsmoke and dirt, underlaid with iron and copper, and of herself. Cassandra breathed it in and sighed. She kissed Trev's neck, feeling her shift, found her mouth and kissed again, over and over, every kiss a prayer and a promise. She never wanted to move from this place, this fragile space they had found together between rooms and moments. She wanted...

But of course there were interruptions, voices on the stairs above calling for the Inquisitor, and Trev, with one last almost comically desperate glance over her shoulder, was borne away by the necessities of her position, leaving Cassandra alone in the dim room.

*                *                *

Late that night Cassandra sat up, unable to sleep. She had gone to the formal dinner for the visiting dignitaries, and played the part of the Seeker, the stern warrior. She had watched Trev charm her dinner companions. Eventually she had escaped, knowing the Inquisitor was doomed to a much longer servitude to the interests of diplomacy.

She had taken her armour off. She had prayed. But she had not undressed and gone to bed.

What did she want? She had thought she had known, and then—then there was Trev. She had not known if she would like kissing a woman; she did. At least, she certainly liked kissing Trev. It had only been three kisses, but those kisses lit fires of a strength she had either forgotten or never known. She knew that she wanted Trev. She did not know why she was hesitating.

She knew what she wanted from a romance. She wanted to be swept off her feet. Well, and had she not been? What else could she call this? If the last weeks had shown her anything, it was that Trev could unsettle her with the smallest smile, set fires burning with the lightest touch.

She wanted the dream of a romance, and Trev had given her poems that burned, a flower that spoke eloquently of love held and cherished.

But Trev did not take, she offered. She offered her heart, she offered everything she had, and then she waited. What would happen now was entirely up to Cassandra. She could back away, or... or she could go to Trev and try to offer something of her own. Trev had given her the freedom to choose.

Perhaps she had the freedom to be someone else's dream.

Perhaps it was time to stop thinking.

*                *                *

_It is very late, and even the revelers from the tavern have mostly taken to their beds. The watch has changed, and the sentries on the battlements are dark shadows against the night sky. The fires are banked, except in the forges where the armourers never stop working. She makes her way across the courtyard, passing through bands of moonlight and darkness as if she is slipping in and out of the world, up the steps and through the main hall. Her footsteps echo slightly in the empty spaces._

_The doors are all unlocked. She slips through them one by one, feeling like a dragonling shedding its skins, all fire and possibilities underneath. The last door is well-oiled and silent, the brass handle heavy and cold against her palm. She moves silently up the stairs, on her toes, absurdly nervous._

_Or perhaps it is not exactly nervousness that she feels._

_There is a little flickering light to see by; the fire in the hearth is still burning. Near the top of the stairs she stops and looks through the balustrade. The settee has been pulled in front of the fire, and there is a dark shape in it—Trev, wrapped in a blanket, motionless in the dancing golden light._

_Cassandra takes the last few steps up the stairs and walks toward the fire. She feels indistinct, ghostlike. But she is not a ghost; not dreaming; Trev looks up as she approaches, and something crosses her face, a hesitant spreading lightness that makes Cassandra's heart twist. They look at each other, and the Seeker sees Trev swallow._

_She still does not know what she wants to say; and then, seeing the hope dawning on Trev's face, she does._

_“If I give myself,” she says, her voice harsh and painful, “I give completely. I cannot hold back. I cannot play games.”_

_“I don't want to play games, Cassandra,” says Trev. Her voice is quiet but sturdy and it is not possible to disbelieve her. “Nor do I want either of us to hold back. I just want_ you _.”_

_Cassandra goes down on one knee before her, then, reaching out to take Trev’s hands. She bends her head and kisses the backs of them, one after the other, and then abruptly, suddenly exhausted, lays her forehead against the Inquisitor's knee. She feels spent, emptied, and at the same time filled. She feels fear and joy and something she cannot name._

_One of Trev's hands pulls gently out of hers, and she feels it stroke her hair, ruffling through the short locks. She breathes unsteadily, eyes shut. The blanket is rough against her cheek, smelling unexpectedly like fresh grass. The heat of the fire on her side warms her like a promise, like coming home._

_“Then I am yours,” says Cassandra._

 

\---finis--

**Author's Note:**

> If you hadn't noticed, I'm kind of fascinated with the working of Cassandra's mind. She is a Seeker of Truth, trained to ferret out and recognize what is really going on in a situation, yet in some ways she is very unperceptive. I find that contradiction really fun to explore.
> 
> An overheard conversation is a total cliché—guilty as charged. A lot of this story is clichéd, because I wanted to wallow in romance tropes. It’s so much fun!
> 
> Originally I started writing the flip side of _A Better Tale_ from Cassandra’s POV, but although I wrote some bits I liked, they weren’t hanging together as I wanted them to. So I decided to write her POV attached to a different storyline, and that led to _No, No, and No_. But that story had a mind of its own and went in quite different directions than I had intended. In the comments on it kitschprinzessin mentioned that their headcanon involved more preliminary making out sessions before getting down and dirty. I think Cassandra would love kissing, the romance and the tension of it, and so that brought me back to my original plan for an ultra, ultra-romantic story, with a hat tip to love in all its forms. And although the storyline is different in how it unfolds and what catalyzes their romance, I came back to my Trev as well, because I’m very fond of her. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it. (And I love getting comments with your thoughts, criticisms as well as compliments, so feel free to let me know what you think.)
> 
> The love poem in the story, and the source of the title, is an excerpt from a poem by Sappho, translated by Anne Carson. 
> 
> (There may be another bit of fic that springs from this one; certainly there were some deliberately planted seeds. We’ll see if they sprout into anything. Wish me luck.)
> 
> Oh, and I posted a drawing of Cassandra and Trev in the last scene to Tumblr: you can see it [here](http://skyboneharper.tumblr.com/image/115158221709).


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